


Getting it out of your system

by eranoa



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dubious Consent, Fix-It of Sorts, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mentioned Martin Blackwood, Mentioned Sasha James, Rough Sex, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eranoa/pseuds/eranoa
Summary: "So what was the plan? You corner me in the bathroom, and then what? You piss me off until I beat you up and call it a night?"Is it so obvious?Jon can't help but let out a mirthless laugh at that as Tim's fists tighten on his collar."Actually yes."
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 10
Kudos: 111





	Getting it out of your system

There is a very specific pain associated with stomach burns that is so very different from any other kind of physical pain. The way you suddenly feel like your heart is hurting too, the need to vomit, the general feeling of unease spreading to every other part of the body. The aching numbness. Jon thought of it as one of the worst kinds of pain, especially since he couldn't do anything about it and just had to wait. 

Jon puts the pages of the statement he just finished reading down on his desk and turns off the tape recorder, a weary sigh escaping his chapped lips. 

He had been sick for days, locked behind his office door, alone for the most part. He came in far earlier than anyone with a sane mind and reasonable sleep schedule would, and left when he knew no one was there anymore. Stomach hurting, first thing when he woke up, and barely calming down enough for him to catch a few scattered hours of sleep. It was unbelievably frustrating, hoping that the pain would leave in the morning like it usually would but it just didn't. And he couldn't help realizing that it was getting worse. 

It was fairly easy to understand that the pain was psychosomatic, but it didn't bring him any closer to know how to calm it. At this rate he would give himself an ulcer before the end of the month and that was not an appreciated addition to his list of problems. 

Jon would certainly not go see a doctor about this.

It's just tension; overwhelming stress piling up on his tired body. Obviously. He has done his research, and he knew why it started happening. If he thought about it, being kidnapped by the circus really was what did the trick. Mind and body coping through so many days of psychological and physical abuse — if anyone ever reported non-consensual moisturizing as a form of torture. Flashes of memories, fragments of the hours stuck back there, on that wooden chair. The burn in his chest raged as Jon could've sworn he felt the ghost of cold plastic hands on his shoulders. He couldn't help but shudder. There was no way that remembering it would do anything good. 

This was not going to go away. Not until he did something about it. But that was the whole issue, what was there to do? Taking it out of his system probably. Even if he intended to seek a therapist — which he absolutely won't — how much could he tell them? Probably not even half of it.  
Talking with his assistants was out of the question: Melanie was terrifying as much as she was terrified, Martin just wasn't a good fit for this and Tim… Well.

Oh how he missed him.

Jon's body immediately reacted at how badly it emotionally hurt, being reminded that Tim hated him. Knowing that after all this there was no one left he could confide in and it was no one's fault but his own. It feels like getting stabbed. 

Feeling faint and unable to work, he grabs the garbage can, just in case. Knowing that if he actually needed to vomit, he wouldn't make it to the bathroom in time. And even if he wasn't above another humiliation, throwing up in the corridor was still a little too much. 

Thinking about Tim just made everything so much worse. Knowing how much he disappointed and all he took from him. There was a time where they were all actually quite close. One could have called them good friends, though maybe not as close as Tim was to Sasha. 

God, Sasha. 

Jon understands that the reasons why Tim despises him so much are perfectly rational: he put everyone in danger; pushed Martin to the Prentiss trauma and may as well have killed Sasha with his bare hands; and after all this, he was still absolutely useless to help with the mess he created. Yet understanding doesn't make dealing with it any easier. 

They couldn't quit. Everyone was stuck there because he couldn't do his damn job correctly, all because he was too weak to stand up to Elias or to actually overcome his cowardice. 

Selfishly, Jon thinks that maybe, if he could make things better with Tim or even just do something good for him, his body would calm down. There isn't much else he has control over anyway and there is nothing left to lose there. 

Jon only realizes he has stopped working when he hears the tape recorder turning on by itself again. He can't bring himself to care, focused on the nausea and the aching of his insides. He takes a deep uneasy breath and grabs the next statement on the pile. 

—

The idea has started to grow inside Jon's brain that if he actually wants Tim to engage in any kind of dialogue with him he has to speak his language of desperate and raw emotions and know what the man enjoys. 

Turns out that is simple enough, Tim liked sex. Obviously he is much more than just a Casanova but he probably shagged more people in the institute than Jon had ever spoken with and it just seems like something he appreciates. 

Jon on the other hand, well, he doesn't really do sex. He did a few times a long time ago and still masturbated when he needed to but he just doesn't like sexual acts and wouldn't usually put himself in such a situation. However, right now, what he likes isn't important, he can't make this about him again. And if sex could help Tim get the anger out of him, he'll just have to bear with it. He had dealt with worse anyway. So he will offer himself to Tim Stoker, with the possibility of doing whatever he wishes to do. He isn't going to run away this time: he'll take what is given to him. And if it comes with getting punched and roughed up a bit, he kind of had it coming.

At least he has the beginning of a plan. 

Jon feels like this idea could actually fix quite a few things: maybe help Tim, make him do something useful and hopefully be in total control of himself again. If he prepared this correctly, anticipating what will happen and everything that he will willingly put his body through, it won't cause any unwanted harm. 

It could only do good. 

Everyone thought they could do whatever they wanted with the Archivist, well this time he would decide and prepare what would happen to him. He would actively choose to do so and won't be carried around in chaos like a leaf in a stream. 

The prospect of it even seems to temper his constant stomach ache, and he is certain that he is onto what looks like as good a temporary solution as any. And he should probably act on it as soon as possible if he wants to keep the same motivation. 

Therefore, Jon settles on Friday evening, two days later.

—

Friday comes by way faster than expected, and the burning of Jon's insides could have simply been mistaken for apprehension and excitement. Multiple scenarios kept playing in his mind over the days, some drastically more pleasant than others. 

But as the clock reaches half past 5 he feels a pang of determination. He knows what he has to do, everyone is starting to leave and there isn't much time left to act. Jon gets up and opens his door slightly to take a look at his assistants. Martin is nowhere to be seen, Melanie neither, only Tim is seated and doing something on his computer. 

He has to find a way to bring him somewhere isolated. As if reading his thoughts, Tim gets up from his desk and makes his way to the restroom. 

Well, that is as good as any other place. 

Jon follows, walking quickly but trying his best to make as little noise as possible. He hesitates a minute as he reaches the door, but he grips the handle tight and opens before he has any chance to overthink it. 

Tim is there, washing his hands in the small sink. When he realizes who has entered the room, he groans and heads to the door in an effort to get Jon to move and let him leave. But Jon does not move. A moment passes with each of them watching the other without saying a word before Tim snarls coldly:

"Are you going to let me get out or am I gonna have to make you?" 

Jon's hands start shaking slightly as he tries to keep his composure. He has never been good at dealing with direct conflict. Still, he tries to steady his voice enough to answer. 

"I need to speak to you, Tim".

Tim's expression remains hostile, but he does not seem about to stop him from talking so Jon takes it as a cue to continue. 

"I've- I've thought about a lot of things and maybe it would be good for you to take some of your anger out on something-." 

A humorless laugh resonates in the room as Tim gets dangerously closer. 

"What makes you think you know anything about what is good for me," he spits with a rage barely hidden. "Does being a fucking psycho come with a free clairvoyance gift or did you just stalk us so much you think you can psychoanalyse us now too? "

Jon doesn't answer. This was not going in the direction he anticipated, but at least that was a constant in his life. 

"Get the fuck out of my way Sims, or I swear you'll live to regret it."

Maybe it is going the right way, actually. He straightens his back and crosses his arms, standing his ground. 

"Do it then."

Getting shoved against the wall probably would have hurt less if there was anything stopping his head from banging against it, but a headache seems a small price to pay for how smoothly this is going. He nearly smiled at this but caught himself before he did. Tim looks like he could murder him on the spot, violently, without any hesitation. But Jon knows he wouldn't, this is still Tim, he trusted him. Sad that he has to realize that so late. 

"So what was the plan? You corner me in the bathroom, and then what? You piss me off until I beat you up and call it a night?" 

Is it so obvious? 

Jon can't help but let out a mirthless laugh at that as Tim's fists tighten on his collar. 

"Actually yes." 

If the other man is taken aback, he doesn't show it. Still glaring with eyes now filled with a terrible fire. 

"I, well, you could. If you think it would feel good to punch me, or anything, well you can do it." Jon's stomach ache is more vicious than ever as he continues. "You can also, well fuck me if you feel like taking it out that way. I won't stop you from doing anything." 

A beat and Tim slaps him in the face, causing his glasses to tumble to the floor. They're probably shattered but it doesn't matter. Jon doesn't move, tries not to flinch away and turns his head back to face his assistant. 

" So you're serious about this. Wow." Tim grabs his throat with one firm hand, barely squeezing, and it shouldn't feel as satisfying as it does. " I knew you were fucked up, but that's worse than I could've imagined. You follow me to the restroom, ask me to beat you up and fuck you there so I can what, get it out if my system?" 

When Jon doesn't answer, lowering his gaze, Tim's hand on his throat presses tighter. 

"Answer me", he orders. 

Jon's voice is already hoarse as he complies. 

"Yes." 

Tim let's go of him before taking a step back. 

"And what makes you think I'd even want to touch you?" he says, cruel eyes running over Jon's frail figure. "Least of all fuck you.

\- I don't" he starts to reply before being cut off by a sudden punch in the gut, stealing the air from his lungs and making him clutch to his stomach. 

\- Shut the fuck up."

Jon obeys trying to breathe again. And suddenly Tim must have changed his mind because he's being pushed to the sink and bent over it. Hands all over his body, grasping violently at his clothes. 

It's uncomfortable, and a part of him wants to put a stop to this as he realizes that his stomach ache never left. But maybe it will come after, when it's done. So he waits. 

When he opens his mouth again — not to speak but to breathe deeply as Tim's palms start to run through his shirt — two fingers are pushed onto his tongue. He prays to anything out there to not let him be sick as the fingers make their way deeper. Still, he can't help but gag as they apply too much pressure in the entrance of his throat. 

Tim takes them out with a grunt, leaving his jaw aching and a nauseating dizziness settling in his body when he feels his pants getting pulled down with his trousers. 

"Don't move."

Held down against the sink, Jon cannot do anything more than whimper as a finger way too lightly coated with spit tries to enter him. Tim is obviously struggling as Jon is nowhere close to aroused and far from getting wet. He can't help the yelp of pain when the finger forces its way inside in one harsh motion. He's shaking like crazy now and his mind is filled with fog and static. But his legs keep him straight up as he tries his best to not fuck this up.

However, Tim suddenly freezes and in a second Jon can't feel his hands on him anymore and he looks up to observe the blurry reflection of the man behind him in the mirror. 

"Wait, that's not a fucked-up fantasy, you're not enjoying this, are you?" he says, running a shaking hand through his hair. Wait, when had Tim started to shake? 

Jon shuts his eyes tightly and tries not to think about how this may be his only way to finally escape this. No. He put himself in this situation, he has to go through with it. 

" No, no, it's fine. Go ahead, I just take some time to get physically aroused, you can force it in, I don't mind, It's alright." 

But his explanation comes out too rushed, his words spoken with an audible dread and he knows Tim doesn't believe him. The man takes another step back. 

"Oh wow, so now you're trying to get me to rape you so you can be the victim again? I thought maybe this time you were done with the manipulative bullshit but it just never stops, does it?" he barks out, eyebrows shooting up, seemingly on the verge of hysteria. 

This wasn't supposed to happen. Jon doesn't know what to say anymore, there's nothing else he can do. It was supposed to work and make things better but it's just making everything worse. 

He lets his body drop to the dirty humid floor and barely manages to get his pants back up before he feels his throat tighten and tears make their way to his eyes. 

What a pitiful sight he must be, half-naked on the bathroom floor, eyes puffy from holding in the tears, unable to do anything else but shudder from the adrenaline and fear. 

Tim lets himself drop down to the floor in front of him, feet nearly touching, taking his face in his palms. He doesn't seem in any better shape. 

"Fuck Jon what happened to us..?" he whispers, too tired to keep the angry facade over the desperation, fear and pain. 

That's the last straw and Jon starts to sob. Shaky breaths mixing with a flow of incoherent apologies. And when Jon thinks Tim is going to leave him and go, the man starts to cry too. 

It's ugly, loud and Tim punches the cubicle next to him hard enough to make it vibrate. But Jon doesn't stop and everything is just too much, it's unbearable and it hurts so bad. They stay like that and weep not knowing if they would ever be able to stop. 

They eventually do after some time as the desperate sobs turn to exhausted sniffing. It's Jon who breaks the silence, voice low and abused by the cries. 

"It's not your fault if I wasn't… Aroused. I don't usually do that, I don't really do sex in general so, it wasn't your fault…" 

He looks up with a sorry expression that makes Tim's stomach turn in disgust at what just happened. He can't help needing to speak about it. 

"I don't touch people like that, I should have asked if it was okay but I was just so mad and I wanted to hurt you. It didn't matter how. I didn't want to make it good for you Jon." his voice breaks and he feels like he may start sobbing again. "Fuck, I didn't care if I was hurting you. 

\- Because I told you it was alright. 

\- It doesn't make it any better. I could have fucking continued to… And you wouldn't have said anything and I wouldn't have checked." 

Jon slides through the floor to the other side of the wall to sit right next to Tim. 

" It's okay, " he tries to say. 

" It's not okay Jon, it's really not."

The man smiles sadly while turning his gaze to the ceiling. 

" You're right, it's not. And I thought I could make it better but it didn't work. I'm sorry."

They sit in silence again, thigh against thigh. And this time it's Tim who starts talking first. 

" We need to have a proper conversation," he mutters slowly. "About everything, we can't go on like this if we want to find a way out of this shit. We have to sort it out and talk." 

Jon nods, a small genuinely glad smile appearing on his face as he works on putting his trousers back on. 

"It doesn't mean I forgive you, Jon. 

-I know, " the answer comes out automatically as Jon struggles to get his clothes right without standing up. 

"Good."

When he stops moving, Tim turns to him and looks into his eyes much more intensely than he has ever done before. And without any warning, pulls him into a tight embrace. Melting against the touch Jon lets out a muffled "I missed you so much" before hugging the other man back, face still wet with snot and tears, buried into the crook of his neck. It's been so long. 

It is certain that things would never be as they once were, but maybe they could get better than they are now. If they all agree to put some effort into it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for taking time to read this work!!  
> Don't hesitate to leave a comment and tell me what you thought about it. ❤️


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